


who needs light when i have you?

by nucodiangelo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Babysitting, Dialogue Heavy, Disabled Eddie Kaspbrak, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Romance, Stanley Uris is So Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29546187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nucodiangelo/pseuds/nucodiangelo
Summary: "Because I almost lost him, and all that mattered to me was that he was alive. He’s still here. So he doesn’t have to love me. He’s alive, he’s still in my life, he’s whole and strong and just as feral as ever. So how could I ever ask for more?”Or, Eddie and Richie are the godfathers of Stan and Patty's daughter. Sometimes it's nice to have a baby to rant to about your seemingly unrequited gay crush on your childhood best friend. Sometimes the baby monitor is on without you knowing it.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 33
Kudos: 123





	1. Richie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atomicteaparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomicteaparty/gifts).



> Title is from Olivia Gatwood’s “Ode To The Unpaid Electricity Bill”
> 
> Thank you to Atomic for coming up with this prompt, and for brainstorming with me as I wrote. https://twitter.com/atomicteaparty/status/1357836596607877122?s=20

“I think she’s hungry again.” Richie says, bouncing Addy slightly on his hip. 

“How can you tell?” Eddie asks from the couch, leaning slightly over the armrest to look at them, “She hasn’t cried.”

“I just know,” Richie shrugs, “She’s looking at me with a hungry expression.”

Eddie snorts, “What is a hungry expression? She’s eight months old - her only expressions are constipation, confusion and glee.”

“She’s all big eyes and frowny faced. _You_ look like this when you’re hungry.”

“Fu- I mean. Shut up. I do not.” 

“Eds, no cursing in front of the baby!” Richie scolds playfully, putting one hand over Addy’s little ear, “Stan will kill you if her first word is f-u-c-k because of your potty mouth.”

“Patty wouldn’t let him.” Eddie huffs, “She would probably find it hilarious.”

“I know. I adore her.” Richie grins fondly, “If Stan hadn’t married her I would have.” If Stan hadn’t and Richie wasn’t one hundred precent a gay man so deep in the closet he practically had one foot in fucking Narnia.

“You didn’t know she existed until _after_ they had been married for 25 years.” Eddie points out, eyebrows arched impressively high on his forehead. 

“I would have found her.” 

“You are full of s-h-i-t.” Eddie rolls his eyes, “Also, I don’t think you’re Patty’s type. She’s a bit of a sapiosexual.”

“The only thing I got out of that sentence is that you think I’m hot.” 

“What?” Eddie yelps, eyes wide, “Where- I didn’t say that.”

“It’s implied! You’re saying Patty wouldn’t be interested in my appearance just because I’m a bit of an idiot. That implies I am somewhat hot.”

“No it really doesn’t. I’m _just_ implying that you’re an idiot.”

“I’m gonna feed her.” Richie decides, pulling a face at Addy to make her laugh. She just stares back at him with those huge doe eyes of hers. Tough crowd, “What do you feed a baby again?”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh, “Didn’t Stan and Patty leave you a list?”

Richie shrugs again, “I’ve misplaced it somewhere.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know, I’m a national treasure.”

“More like a national nuisance.” Eddie grumbles, and then looks a bit worried, “I have no idea what to feed an eight month old. They’re so tiny! What do they need? Fruit? Vegetables? Are they supposed to eat meat at that age?”

“Dude, I don’t know! Despite being a total DILF, I have yet to have any experience with raising a child.” Richie laughs. Addy frowns at him, her little mouth downturned. He feels his own eyes go soft. 

“Don’t you have to be a dad to be considered a DILF?” Eddie asks, because he always has to poke at Richie’s jokes with a sharp stick until they fall apart. 

“No, Spaghedward. DILF is a way of being, a badge of honor, a mindset. The people of twitter have crowned me a DILF, so that’s what I am.” Richie explains, talking to Eddie the same way he would explain things to Addy, “Also, thanks for only focusing on the dad aspect of that. Nice to know you think I’m f-u-c-k-a-b-l-e. You ol’ charmer.”

“I hate you.” Eddie sighs. 

“No you don’t.” Richie grins, “Should we call Stan?”

“He’ll just yell at you for losing the list. I’ll just google it.” Eddie groans, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Richie smiles fondly at him. “It says here that babies shouldn’t have red meat.”

“Are you about to lecture me on how adults shouldn’t have red meat either?”

“F off. I don’t think you’re supposed to eat _any_ type of meat, but I’m not about to have this argument with you again. You’ll just keep saying insane shit despite my valid arguments and reliable sources, just to get a rise out of me, and I’m already tired of this conversation.”

“You vegetarians and your crazy theories. Also, there was a curse word in there. A dollar in the jar, my good sir.”

“I will strangle you.” Eddie snaps, but he pulls out his wallet and leans over to the jar anyways. He is nothing if not punctual. 

The jar had been Bev’s idea, at Christmas when all the Losers came to stay at Patty and Stan’s house in Ithaca. Stan had strictly told them, _no cursing in front of Addy, or I’ll throw you out on your ass_ . And Richie had said, _no way Eddie’s going to last more than an hour_ . To which Eddie had gotten the familiar glint of challenge in his eyes and said, _you want to fucking bet?_ Beverly had suggested the curse jars. One for Eddie and one for Richie. The person with the least amount of money in the jar by the end of the year wins the entire pot. So far Richie was leading by 19 dollars. 

“Sounds hot.” Richie winks, “What else does it say?”

Eddie frowns down at his phone screen, “I was right about fruits and vegetables. They can also have cheese and yoghurt. What does Stan and Patty even have in the fridge?”

“I’ll check.” Richie says, making his way into the kitchen with Addy still perched on his hip.

“Remember that she’s allergic to eggs!” Eddie calls from the living room, “And citrus!”

Richie opens the fridge, peeking inside, “Why would they keep citrus in the house if she’s allergic?”

“I don’t know! I’m just making sure you don’t like, poison her.” Eddie calls, sounding annoyed, “They probably have orange juice, so just don’t give that to her.”

Richie glances at the fridge door, smirking, “No orange juice. They have apple juice though. Can she have that?”

“I think so? Dude, I have no idea.” Eddie says, “God, are we the worst godparents in the world for not knowing this stuff?”

Richie reaches for the apple juice and one of the baby-yoghurt containers, before closing the door. He sets Addy down in her high-chair to fix her a bottle and a spoon. “No, we’re not. This is just the first time we’re alone with her. You’re neurotic about everything, so I’m not shocked you’re like this right now. We’ll be fine!”

“I want to curse so bad.” Eddie grumbles.

“I know. This must be so hard for you.” Richie laughs, setting the yoghurt in front of Addy and handing her one of those tiny baby spoons. She looks beyond excited, “Aw, Addy, do you like yoghurt?”

She babbles at him, waving the spoon around in her tiny fist. 

“I know, I know. I prefer banana yoghurt myself, but it seems Stan only buys you vanilla. What a bore.” He grins at her as she starts stabbing the spoon into the container, “I think you deserve more flavours. Have you tried blueberry? You seem like a blueberry person.”

She shoves the spoon towards her mouth, missing by a few centimeters and ends up smearing it across her cheek, before she finally gets it into her mouth. Richie huffs a fond laugh. 

“Eddie likes plain yoghurt, like a maniac. And he buys non-dairy, so it tastes like oats. And he doesn’t put like, honey or berries on it. Just eats it plain. He’s insane, Addy. Insane.” Richie whispers conspiratorially at her, “He’s already not eating meat, and now he’s depriving himself of proper dairy products? Crazy man.”

“What are you two gossiping about in there?” Eddie calls. He only has to raise his voice a little bit more than his usual talking voice to be heard across the house.

“Nothing, you nosy b-word. Me and Addy are having a private conversation here!”

“You mean ‘Addy and I’,” Eddie snorts, “ And you’re making fun of me aren’t you?”

“I’m not a snitch, Eds. Addy was just saying how you’re an absolutely unhinged human being for eating plain oat yoghurt. Only serial killers do that.”

“I’m gonna serial kill you.” Eddie huffs, “I don’t talk badly of you to her.”

“I refuse to believe that’s true. You talk badly of me to everyone, even to my face. I heard you talking s-h-i-t about me to the cashier at Trader Joe’s last week.” Richie accuses.

“Because you left the line just as we were next - to go get whatever weird hipster chocolate covered raisins you absolutely _had to have_ \- which, dude, gross. And you took forever! Like an a-hole.”

“I’ll show you an a-hole.”

“I will gut you like a fish.”

“Eddie, buy a man dinner first. I’m not some cheap call-girl.” 

“Shut it. Stop talking about me behind my back. I think you’re trying to turn her against me so you can be the favourite godfather.”

“I’m not gonna have to try that hard.” Richie teases. He doesn’t mean it for a second. Addy is obsessed with Eddie. She’ll scream laughing as he wheels her around in his chair, and she’ll be completely still next to him on the couch as they watch TV together and she’ll fall asleep on his chest within minutes as Eddie naps with her. Watching them interact makes Richie feel genuinely insane with longing. 

When Stan and Patty had first told them they had chosen Eddie and Richie as the godparents, at a fancy restaurant, Patty seven months pregnant and eating her bodyweight in pasta, Eddie had freaked out a bit. 

“Isn’t it traditional for the godparents to be married to each other? Or at least like, together?” He squeaked, eyes huge and fork frozen on its way to his mouth, “Like what if something happens to you two, and we have to get custody of her? We don’t even live together! That would make the legal proceedings so much harder.”

Stan had glanced over at Patty with an exasperated look on his face. Patty had just shrugged as she continued chewing her food, “I think, with everything we’ve been through, we’re way past doing things traditionally. _Normally_ , thirteen year olds don’t have to fight an alien killer clown either, but look at us.” He gave them a wry smile, “And _normally_ , forty year olds don’t get calls from childhood best friends they had magically forgotten about to go fight said alien killer clown _again_. Fuck the norm.”

Patty swallowed her food, and grinned at them, “You two are our best friends, so it makes the most sense to us that you’re the ones to bestow this title upon.”

“You’re just trying to trick us with fancy words.” Richie accused, brain still frozen at the way Eddie had mentioned marriage earlier. He’s so fucked. So incredibly fucked.

“Calm down. We’re not planning on anything happening to us, so it’s a bit early to catastrophize about having to adopt and raise her together.” Stan said, taking a hefty sip of his wine. Patty looked wistfully at his glass.

Eddie finally put his fork down, “I’ve spent my entire adult life catastrophizing. It was quite literally my job for like fifteen years.” He groaned, “Do I have to remind you of the fact that both Stan and I almost died last year?”

“No.” Patty said, a bit more serious, “But you didn’t. There’s no point going through life worrying about the what-ifs. And anyways, you two already almost died, which makes the chances of you almost dying again pretty slim.”

“That’s not how statistics works.” Eddie said, looking pained. 

“Hey, don’t argue with me. I’m carrying around a human being inside me. I’m very tired and irritable.”

“I’m refined to a wheelchair most of the time, and Richie’s like a baby himself! Wouldn't Ben and Bev be a better option? They both have steady jobs and are like, filthy rich. And Ben is the most responsible and emotionally capable of all of us. Plus, they’re getting married!”

“I have a steady job!” Richie argued.

“You make dick jokes for incels and misogynistic frat boys.” Eddie huffed. 

“Hey, I changed up my act after Derry. There’s at least like twenty percent women in the audience now!”

“Yeah, and they’re all girlboss anti-feminists.” Patty shrugs, “That’s almost as bad.”

Stan cleared his throat to get their attention again, “Ben challenged Bill to a car race literally last month. He built a glass house in the middle of nowhere, deep into the woods, where no one would be able to hear him scream if there’s ever a burglar or murderer.” He rolled his eyes, and took a long time cutting a piece of his steak before continuing, “It’s not necessarily about being the most responsible ones. We just know you two will love her with everything in you. And that’s all that matters to us.”

“Why would a burglar go that far into the woods? I don’t think people even know there’s a house out there.” Richie said.

“Jesus fucking Christ. We’re trying to tell you how much we appreciate you and that we want you two to have important roles in our daughter's life, and you’re fighting us about statistics and burglary?” 

“You two already love her so much. Both of you cried more than both Stan and I combined when we sent you the first ultrasound pictures.” Patty laughed, and then grinned softly at Stan when he discarded half of his steak over onto her plate, “There’s no doubt that you will spoil her rotten.”

“That’s why we moved to New York in the first place. Well that and my job at Cornell, and wanting to be closer to you all. But we want Aderyn to grow up close to her godfathers.” Stan said, taking a sip of his wine like that wasn’t the sweetest thing he had ever said to them.

“But,” Eddie’s voice came out slightly choked up, “We… You mean it?”

“Oh, here comes the waterworks.” Patty laughed, “We wouldn’t joke about this. That would be very cruel.”

Richie’s eyes stung slightly. He’s predictable like that. Stan kept glancing at him with very knowing eyes, and it was throwing him off, “So, we’re godparents? Just like that?”

“Well, not yet. It’s not official until Aderyn is born. We’ll fill in the papers then.” Stan said, but his eyes had gone very soft. 

“Oh my god.” Eddie said, his voice breaking slightly, “I- Oh.”

Richie turned to him, heart beating painfully hard in his chest at the tender expression on Eddie’s face. His eyes were glossy and round, his mouth in a tiny pout, as if he was holding back tears. Richie wanted to grab his hand under the table and give it a reassuring squeeze. He kept his own hands to himself, shoving them between his thighs. 

Eddie met his eyes, “We’re going to be godparents Richie.”

And in the end it didn’t matter that Richie didn’t reach out, because Eddie did, gripping his hand like a lifebuoy. 

Back in the present, Addy splutters incomprehensibly and babbles loudly, yoghurt all over her face, and reaches for the bottle of apple juice still clutched in Richie’s hand. He hands it to her. 

“Addy, you are so cute I could eat you right up.” Richie coos, “I really could.”

Eddie, finally coming into the kitchen so they don’t have to yell at each other from different rooms, huffs, “Please don’t eat Stan and Patty’s baby.”

Richie grins at him, and makes space by the table for the wheelchair so Eddie can sit next to them, “Aw, Eds. Couldn’t you just eat her up? I read somewhere once that it’s an animalistic instinct to want to eat cute things, like animals and babies. Something called cute aggression. It’s because of the way in nature, when an animal is too cute, the parent might eat them to protect them from the environment. They’re literally too cute to live.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him as he comes to park the chair next to Richie, and then glances over at Addy, who’s smearing the yoghurt around her tray, laughing gleefully, “That simultaneously makes no sense at all and so much sense. I do want to squeeze her sometimes.”

“I get that with you too, at times. When you give me those puppy dog eyes to get me to do something for you.” Richie smiles at the way Eddie frowns at that, “It’s adorable. I just want to unhinge my jaw and swallow you whole.” His stomach burns at the honesty, and he hopes his teasing tone covers up the blush he feels spreading across his cheekbones.

“Shut up.” Eddie grumbles, but his cheeks are a bit red. Richie’s heart stutters in his chest. “Now I’m going to be constantly looking over my shoulder in fear that you’re going to bite me or something.” 

Richie snorts, “Hey, between the two of us, you’re the biter. Remember how you used to bite me in grade school? I used to come home with your teeth imprinted into my skin and my mom would freak, thinking I had been attacked by a rabid animal. Little did she know that I indeed had been.”

“Oh, f you. I only did that because you would wrestle me into the dirt and put your whole body weight on top of me, and wouldn’t get off until I bit you.”

“Dude, I was scrawny as f until I was like twenty-two. My body weight was almost non-existent back in grade school. You just seized any opportunity to bite. I think you liked it. You feral little thing.”

“I will choke you out.” Eddie grumbles, “Putting my mouth anywhere near your dirty fuc- fricking skin was the very last resort before you crushed me to death or elbowed me so hard in the stomach I would have passed out from the pain.”

Richie throws his head back laughing, “You’re so k-i-n-k-y, Eds. Choking me out. I’d like to see you try.” It’s embarrassing how true that actually is. 

“Not my name.”

“Close enough.”

“That’s not how it works.” Eddie sighs, “What is she eating?”

Richie glances down at Addy again, who’s still smearing yoghurt all over the tray. He laughs, standing up to go get a washcloth to clean her up, “Vanilla yoghurt. I think Patty and Stan are depriving her of actual good yoghurt.” He says, “ _Vanilla_ , huh!”

Eddie snorts, “For a person that I have never actually seen eat yoghurt, you sure have very passionate opinions about it. You yoghurt snob.”

“Don’t gaslight me over my passion for yoghurt.” Richie tries to sound serious, but it comes out as a bit of a wheeze from the way he can’t stop laughing, as he comes back to the table with the cloth. He lifts Addy out of the chair and places her in Eddies lap so he can get her away from the mess on the tray of her chair, to clean off her fingers and face. Eddie places his arms securely around her, looking very fond. Richie feels like banging his head against the kitchen counter. He wipes her little fingers clean, and then her pudgy cheeks, before turning to the chair. 

It had been absolutely unbearable to deal with how Eddie looks when he’s around Addy, right after she was born. He had sat in his wheelchair by Patty’s hospital bed, all wide teary eyes, looking at the bundle in her arms with awe. Richie had been standing by the window, watching the way Eddie’s entire face lit up as Stan lifted Addy out of Patty’s arms to hand Addy over to Eddie. In the light from the morning sun shining into the room, Eddie’s skin was pure gold, the freckles over his nose defined and warm, his eyes the colour of honey. Stan had glanced over at Richie once he was sure Eddie was holding Addy securely, and gave him a knowing sort of look. Fucking Stan Uris with his preceptive eyes and pitying smiles. 

“I’m not- What the- _Gaslighting_ you over yoghurt? You are insane.” Eddie snorts, running his hands over Addy’s tufts of dark brown hair, “Yoghurt is yoghurt. There’s not much more to have an option on.”

Richie glances at him over his shoulder as he rinses out the wash cloth, “Only a person who doesn’t really enjoy yoghurt would say that. You and your f-ing plain oat yoghurt. Heathen.”

“Tell me the last time you ate yoghurt.” Eddie deadpans, still patting Addy’s head. She’s getting heavy lidded, her mouth open in a tiny o. Richie wants to cry. The universe is playing some sort of cruel joke on him - forcing him to be alone in a room with the two cutest people on earth, expecting him not to melt onto the tiles.

He thinks about it for a few seconds, “The motel in Derry, I think. They served yoghurt and granola for breakfast the day before you died, didn’t they?”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, “Yeah they did.” He nods, “And I didn’t die.”

“You were legally dead for five minutes, dude.” Richie says, trying very hard not to think about it. He has no idea why he adds, “I literally felt your heart stop beating under my hands. I was the one to start your heart up again as we were waiting for the ambulance.”

Eddie pointedly does not acknowledge that, “So you’re telling me you’re judging my yoghurt preferences when you, yourself, haven’t eaten it in almost two years?”

Richie hangs the cloth over the faucet, frowning, “Has it really been that long?”

“It’s April now, dumbass. We all met up for the one year anniversary in August. Are you having a stroke?”

Richie shakes his head, turning back around to lift Addy from Eddie’s lap and holding her against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He pats her softly on the back, bouncing her slightly, the way he’s seen Stan do. “I don’t think so. I can feel my entire face.” He grins at Eddie, who’s gone a bit pale, “Sorry, I was mostly talking about the yoghurt thing, not _clown trauma the prequel_. But it’s still strange though. I feel like it’s been both _decades_ and also somehow just a few weeks since Derry part two - electric boogaloo went down.”

“Yeah, the first few months post Derr- What the f did you just call it? Electric boogaloo? I hate you.” Eddie snaps, eyes following the bobbing of Addy’s head, “Between all the divorces, and the moving, and Patty’s pregnancy, I suppose it does make sense that you didn’t have time to think about your last yoghurt consumption. You even went on tour for three months.”

Richie keeps patting Addy’s back to get her to burp, “Longest three months of my life.” He coos in his baby-voice, “Missed you every single day.” He doesn’t really know if he’s speaking to Addy or Eddie. 

“You want to watch a movie?” Eddie asks, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, “After she’s fallen asleep?”

“Of course. I call dibs on choosing what we watch though. You just want us to watch whatever sh- bad comedies have come out between the early 90’s till now.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I missed out on between abusive mom and abusive wife. I want to catch up, no matter how bad they are. I want to be able to understand your stupid references.”

Richie smiles fondly at him, “Alright, but I still want to choose. You haven’t seen _We’re the Millers_ , right?”

Eddie cocks his head to the side, as if he’s trying to rake his brain for an answer. In the dim light of the kitchen, the angle of his head casts harsh shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. He looks handsome, he always does - but now, wearing a soft grey sweatshirt, hair still a bit damp and curly from the shower he took earlier - he looks handsome in the most domestic way. Richie lets himself, for a indulgent moment, imagine his life like this. Late nights in the kitchen with Eddie, comfortable and warm, maybe getting their own child ready for bed so they can settle down with a nice movie on the couch. His heart flutters painfully in his chest.

“No. I haven’t. Who’s in that one?” Eddie concludes, bringing Richie right back down to earth. He feels a bit dizzy. 

“Uh.” He frowns, disoriented by his previous thoughts, “Jennifer Aniston, and, uh, Jason Sudeikis, that guy from the third _Narnia_ film, or maybe the fourth. The one with the ship, and the ghost island with the green smoke. How many movies are there in that universe?”

“Three. They’re in pre production for the fourth right now I think.” Eddie says without hesitation, because of course he fucking knows that, “I think it’s going to be shit. You should always keep it a trilogy.”

“Three’s the magic number, indeed. And that was a curse word. I am bleeding you dry tonight.” Richie smirks, “Also Emma Roberts is in it.”

“What in _Narnia_? Who did she play?” Eddie looks genuinely confused, “I’ll put a dollar in the jar later.” 

“Sorry, no. In _We’re the Millers_. Keep up dude.” Richie grins. 

“Sorry for getting lost, you’re the one who went offroad. She’s the one from _Wild Child_ right?”

Richie laughs incredulously, feeling slightly unhinged, _god_ he loves him, “Of course you’ve seen _Wild Child_ but not _American Pie_ or, like, _Jackass_. You’re so great. You’re my favorite person ever.”

Eddie beams at him, looking pleased with himself, “I watched _Legally Blonde_ three times in theatre.”

Richie laughs so hard he has to hand Addy back to Eddie so he can put his head between his knees and snort loudly, trying to regain the ability to breath properly, “Oh, god, Eddie. Please. That’s amazing. How old were we when that came out?”

“Twenty-five. It was right before I met Myra. I was a free man for the first time since I moved out of Derry, and also for the last time in a while.”

“Yeah, you really let your hair down. Buck wild, that Edward Kaspbrak. Living the bachelor life to its full potential.”

“Har har.” Eddie deadpans, shifting Addy in his arms so he can pat her on the back like Richie had been doing previously. 

“Ok, so the verdict is yes on _We’re the Millers_ , and the new _Narnia_ movie is going to be bad but we’ll still go see it together on opening night?” Richie asks, still wheezing a bit. His lungs and heart feel too big for his chest, his ribcage straining to keep them contained. 

“Yes and yes. Definitely.” Eddie smiles, “And you better get us premier tickets, and good seats.”

”Right, why else would you be friend with a C-list celebrity if not for the benefits?”

“Exactly, you get it.” Eddie laughs, “I don’t have the energy to walk up those stairs more than I have to tonight, so could you bring her to bed? I’ll clean up down here.”

“Clean up what?” Richie asks, glancing around the kitchen. Their dishes from dinner are soaking in the sink, and Richie has cleaned up all the yoghurt, so he can’t quite see what it is that Eddie deems too dirty to leave until tomorrow. 

“I am not about to leave Patty and Stan’s kitchen looking like this.” Eddie simply says, with such a tone of finality that Richie doesn’t bother arguing with him. 

“Right. That would be a non-forgivable crime.”

“What do you consider a forgivable crime?”

“Stealing from big chains or corporations, arson, overthrowing the government.”

“Overthrowing the government isn’t a crime. The constitution clearly states we have the right to overthrow the government if we aren’t happy with how the country is being run.” Eddie shrugs. 

Richie frowns at him, laughter bubbling in his throat, “So why the f are we watching a movie tonight when we could be doing much more important things?”

“You think you and I could overthrow the government?”

“No, obviously we need Patty, Bev and Ben with us. Stan and Mike will stand guard. Bill will cause the diversion. A real _dress in drag and do the hula_ situation. Oh, now isn’t that a wonderful image - Bill in a little tutu, maybe a crop top.”

“Who is he distracting?”

“Secret service of course.”

Eddie sighs, “Of course.” 

“We’ve fought an intergalactic child-eating ancient deity disguised as a clown, how hard can it be to break into the government building? The pentagon? We could do it.”

“I’m not even going to indulge you with a response to that. Why isn’t Ben guarding?”

“Because he’s a chaotic comrade at heart. He’ll be the first to breach the doors.” Richie says, sending Eddie a very serious look.

“Yeah. He’s such an enabler.”

“He sure is.” Richie nods.

“Wait, backtrack for a second. You think arson is a forgivable crime?”

“Yeah, dude. Everyone’s committed a little bit of arson.”

“No? I’m pretty sure not everyone’s done that. What does a _little bit of arson_ even mean? Have _you_ committed arson?”

“Accidentally, of course. What are you, a cop?”

Eddie gasps, looking incredulous, “Oh, shut up! Take that back. I will not tolerate slander from an accidental arsonist.”

Richie laughs, “You better treat Stan, Mike and Bev with this same lack of respect.”

“Are you telling me four out of eight of us have committed arson?”

“I’m absolutely telling you that.” Richie shrugs, grinning, “I’m pretty sure Bill will join the cause in a while. He’s a ticking time bomb.”

“I can’t believe you.” Eddie sighs, “If my apartment building ever burns down I _will_ witness against you in court. All of you.”

Richie holds his arms out for Addy, and Eddie hands her over. She looks tired and content, “Alright, off to bed princess.” Richie coos at her, nuzzling his face into her hair. He catches one last look at Eddie as he’s leaving the kitchen, only to find Eddie looking back at him with a strange look on his face. He’s biting his lower lips, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, like he’s thinking really hard about something. Richie looks away before he can let his mind wander.


	2. Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ask for more, Eddie thinks. Please ask me for more. Ask me for anything. I will give it to you. I want to give it to you. Everything. All of me. Please let me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on the first chapter, I love you all!!!!! And once again, thanks to Atomic for your support and love, you’re the best <33  
> This chapter is a bit heavier than the last one, because I felt like it had to be to make sense for context reasons, so TWs: Richie rants a bit about his own internalised homophobia, and talks about how Eddie got hurt down in the cistern (a bit of death and suicide ideation, but it’s only implied), Eddie thinks about the abuse inflicted on him by Sonia and Myra (again, pretty brief and nothing graphic), Derry relevant violence, AIDS mention.

Eddie stares after Richie as he walks up the stairs. His chest is doing that familiar fluttering he’s gotten so used to experiencing when he looks at Richie. It happened for the first time with the sound of a gong, at a chinese restaurant in their nightmarish hometown, when Eddie turned to catch Richie’s eye across the room. The realisation that he had forgotten Richie, Richie, was almost as overwhelming as the sensation that started deep in his stomach when he laid eyes on the man in front of him, strong and tall and so incredibly handsome; a warm and fluttering feeling, whizzing up his abdomen, and seeped into his chest, pulsating and vibrating. 

Earlier, when Richie had held Addy against his chest, bouncing her softly, Eddie had an insane moment where he was partly jealous of the baby for getting to rest her head against Richie’s ridiculous shoulder, and partly so fiercely grateful of getting to witness it he could feel his heart rising up his throat, and he was a bit afraid he was going to throw it up right onto Patty and Stan’s marble tiles. Both of those reactions are absolutely fucking idiotic, because Addy can’t help the fact that she’s a baby who needs to be held, and also because Richie can’t help the way his entire being affects Eddie. He keeps having to remind himself, in moments like those, that Richie is straight, and would not be ok with Eddie looking at him like that, thinking about him in those ways. It isn’t exactly making it easy to keep his feelings for Richie platonic when he lets himself stare dreamily at Richie whenever he isn’t paying Eddie any attention. 

Part of him feels fourteen again - like he’s down in the clubhouse indulging himself in studying Richie for hours as he was busy with something else. Talking with Bev, reading, trying to solve a Rubix cube, messing with the radio. Richie’s always been like that, quick to zone out, prone to hyperfocus, attention fleeting. Eddie always wanted Richie’s attention, even when he would act like he didn’t. The two of them entangled together in a hammock only fit for one person - but then again, Derry was never big enough for any of them, and they still managed to create space for themselves - Eddie’s hip against Richie’s shin, his own leg slung over Richie’s stomach, resting next to Richie’s head, their skin sticking together in the humid summer air. Eddie would spend hours and days trying to come up with new ways to make Richie put the gameboy or the comic or the book down, to look at Eddie, to touch him, to laugh with him. Pinch his legs, push his feet into his face, slap the comic out of his hands, try to swing the hammock back and forth until they both toppled out of it. Now, at forty, he is still willing to do almost anything to get Richie’s attention on him, and it’s utterly embarrassing. 

He shakes himself out of the trance he’s in to clean up the kitchen. And if he spends way too long scrubbing the sink - leaning against the counter to keep himself upright, thinking about how soft and loving Richie’s voice had gotten when he said the word  _ princess _ , looking Eddie right in the eye - it’s his business. It really shouldn’t affect him this much to observe the way Richie interacts with Addy - the way his heart will beat painfully in his chest to see the way Richie goes all soft and sweet, treating her like the most precious thing in the world. 

Eddie has never wanted children. When he was younger, so deep in the closet he didn’t even realize he was even in there in the first place and afraid to turn into his mother, he was sure children were something he would never even consider for himself. Then he forgot Derry, and to some degree, how horrible his mother really had been to him, and he married Myra, who had talked about children constantly, planning and tracking her period, and Eddie had felt the claws of anxiety wrap around his heart every single time she brought it up. He had not thought, even for a single second, that he and Myra would make good parents. They were both uptight and anxious control freaks, and they always spurred on each other’s neurosis. After a year without her in his life in any way, Eddie wonders how many of his problems can actually be blamed on her, and how many he already had when he met her.

Plus she was a coddler, in the cruelest sense of the world. That’s what he usually says to his therapist,  _ she coddled me _ . He can’t really think of another word for the way she micromanaged everything he did; what he ate, what he wore, where he went, when to sleep. Coddled, at age 40. By a woman so similar to his mother he’s repulsed to even think about it. Fucking Sigmund Freud - what the fuck is your explanation for my situation you weird fucking asshole? I’m gay! He thinks, staring furiously down at the pink rubber gloves he’s wearing. A voice in his head that sounds very much like Richie responds,  _ dude, it might be less of a Oedipus complex and more of a Norman Bates situation, whatever that sick motherfucker had going on. _

Myra was also mean, deprecating, biting, overly emotional and prone to use it as a weapon. She never yelled at him, but she cried with every strong emotion, anger or sadness, which meant Eddie never got to be angry either - had to back down before he could even defend himself just to get her to stop crying. 

So for absolutely none of his forty years of life had he ever given much thought to having children of his own. Then Patty and Stan found out they were pregnant, Addy was born, and Eddie spent eight excruciating months thinking about absolutely  _ nothing  _ else.  _ Especially  _ overwhelming is the daydream of having children  _ with Richie _ . He can’t stop thinking about it. He’ll lay awake at night in his empty Manhattan apartment reflecting on adoption proceedings and how to baby proof his apartment, and if he and Richie would have to get married beforehand. He doesn’t even want to indulge  _ that  _ train of thoughts too much, because if he does he will genuinely hyperventilate and pass out. There isn’t a point in thinking about it too much, because Richie is straight, not in love with Eddie, and would never want to have children with him, but it still doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it at least once a day. Sometimes he thinks he’s a bit of a masochist. 

When he finally deems the sink shiny enough, he steers the wheelchair out into the livingroom to collapse on the couch. His legs and back hurt, like they usually do at the end of the day; a dull ache that seems to vibrate through his bones and leave him tired and cranky. He’ll have to ask Richie to fetch his painkillers once he comes back down. He turns the TV on and starts browsing Netflix for the movie Richie wanted to watch, so it’ll be ready when he’s done getting Addy to bed. Legs stretched out in front of him on the sectional, he glances over at the baby monitor, just in time to catch Richie walking into the nursery with Addy in his arms, wearing the dinosaur pyjamas that Bev and Ben had gotten her for christmas. Eddie leans forward, leaning most of his weight on his left arm - his core strength hasn’t been the same since Derry - to turn on the sound of the monitor, in hopes that Richie is planning on reading or singing Addy to sleep. It’ll be a nice distraction from the fatigued pain of his lover back and knees.

“I wish I had these pyjamas, Ads.” Richie coos, leaning over the crib to put her down, “Do you think they make it in like a XXXXL? For like  _ really  _ big babies?”

Addy just stares at him as he pulls the baby blanket over her and swaddles her in it, “No I figured. Too bad. I think I would look really cute, plus the butt flap would sure be useful.”

Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes. He tries very hard not to imagine Richie in one-piece pyjamas. 

“Are you sleepy? Or did the bath just wake you right back up again? Your eyes are like saucers right now.” Richie chuckles, running his knuckles down Addy’s cheek. Eddie’s heart pauses for a second. He can imagine a world where Eddie’s on his own couch back in New York, waiting for Richie to finish putting their child to bed so they can cuddle up on the couch to watch some horrible movie Richie had picked out just to make Eddie laugh. His heart flutters in his chest.

“Well, I’ll tell you a story then. I’ve been told I have a calming story-telling voice. People usually get tired of my rambling.”

Eddie smiles, sliding down on the couch to get comfortable, looking forward to what kind of complete bullshit Richie is about to tell their goddaughter. His sock slides down his ankle with the movement, and he groans as he tries to bend his knee and bend down to pull it back up - he gives up immediately as his back cracks and dull pain shoots down his spine. He gives up and leans back against the pillows again, sighing. Richie will have to help him with that too. He doesn’t bother feeling frustrated at that. There’s lots of things he sometimes needs help with after recovering from his injury. Sometimes, if he’s been on his feet for too long, someone will have to help him get his shoes on and off, and sometimes his left arm will go numb for a few hours, and he needs someone to wheel him around until he regains feeling again and can do it on his own. It was really disheartening, at first, to discover all the things he needed help with. Trying hard not to think about his mother, or Myra. Trying to remember he isn’t sick, or weak, or made of glass. He’s just hurt. And he got hurt saving his friend’s lives, so the sacrifice was worth it. 

If he had the option to go back in time and make another choice down in the cistern that would lead to him not getting stabbed, or going back and doing the same thing over again, just to save Richie’s life, it wouldn’t even be a question about what he would choose. Sometimes, he lays awake at night running his fingers over the gnarled skin of his chest from where multiple surgeons spent over 40 hours stitching him back together, and thinks about how the scar is a physical proof of the undeniable fact of Richie’s aliveness. Every time Eddie catches himself in the mirror after a shower, or getting undressed for the night in his bedroom, he’s overwhelmed by the heavy reality of what the scar symbolizes. He has very fond feelings for it, despite the way Richie and Bill’s eyes go all self-deprecating and guilty whenever they catch a glimpse of it, as if they are somehow to blame for him getting hurt.

The first 6 months after Derry, as he was knee deep in physical therapy and divorce settlement meetings, he had an at home nurse. At first he had tried to fight his doctor on it, feeling incapable and helpless, and wanting nothing more than to be able to take care of himself, to not feel like a burden, to not feel broken. His doctor, a very tall russian woman, had looked at him with a very unimpressed look on her face and told him to grow up and accept that human beings need help sometimes, and he would just simply have to deal with it if he ever wanted to recover. So Eddie, a bit embarrassed of being scolded by a professional at least five years younger than him, accepted the at home nurse programme. His nurse’s name was Tonje, a kind scandinavian girl with bright green hair and a crude sense of humour. Richie adored her, and if it wasn’t for the twenty year age gap, Eddie suspected Richie would have proposed to her. She worked with him every day for the first three months, doing physical therapy and helping him around the house, and then only came by every other day to check on him the next few months. Eddie liked her a lot. She was brutally honest, didn’t coddle him, didn’t ask any questions about his injury, and made him laugh a lot. 

Over the monitor, he watches as Richie gets seated in the armchair next to Addy’s crib, leaning slightly over the railing to keep stroking her hair. Eddie feels his heart melt in his chest and down into his stomach, warm and thick.

“Alright. Story-time it is.” Richie says, voice low and calming. It’s a tone Eddie recognizes clearly from their childhood. Richie was always rather rough with Eddie, wrestling him into the ground, or bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s to knock him on his ass, or trying to push his head under the dirty water of the Quarry; as if he was actively trying to prove to both Eddie and everyone else in Derry that Eddie wasn’t weak, or breakable, and would give back just as hard as he received. But whenever he pushed Eddie too far, or someone else caused Eddie to hyperventilate or curl in on himself to make himself small, Richie would go all soft and comforting.

“My therapist keeps telling me I need to talk to someone about this, which is easy for her to say, since she’s not the one who’s paying a hundred dollars an hour to have an objective part to open up to, just to avoid having to be honest to anyone I genuinely care about. So I started talking to Stan - because I remembered talking to him about it in the 90s, before we all left Derry, but he grew pretty tired of it after a few months. Now, every time I complain or rant to him about it he just sighs and tells me I’m an idiot. Which, fine, I am, but he doesn’t need to be such a dick- Oh shi- Damn. Sorry, Ads. I meant, he doesn’t need to be such an a-hole about it. And well, since you can’t speak, you also can’t tell me to shut up, so buckle in kiddo, because I have a lot to say.”

Eddie frowns, wondering what he could be talking about. He also makes a mental note to remind Richie he has to put a dollar in the jar. 

Richie chuckles, “All right. So it all starts in 1982. Let me set the scene. I’m six, barely four feet tall, wearing my spiderman pyjamas to the first day of school because my parents let me get away with absolutely anything. So I’m standing on the steps by the main door with dad, and he’s sort of tearing up while he reminds me to eat my lunch and not talk when the teacher is talking, and try to make some friends. He was worried about me not starting school at the same time as your dad, because the two of us were pretty codependent on each other, even back then. And I’m only half-listening, because as he’s rambling on, a minivan pulls into the parking lot, and Eddie steps out of the car.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at that. He remembers that day very clearly. His mothers anxiety about leaving him in the hands of any adult that wasn’t her, her aggressive reminders to be quiet and sweet, eat his packed lunch, come right home as soon as the bell rings at the end of the day. No encouragement from her for Eddie to make any friends.

“He’s this tiny dude, wearing a cripst white polo under a blue sweater vest, a backpack that’s way too large for him, and the biggest eyes I have ever seen in my life. His mom, horrible woman, may she burn in hell, kept hugging and kissing him, and would barely let him go when the bell rang. When he finally broke free from her grip, he basically sprinted towards the entrance, red in the face with embarrassment. And I, being the asshole- damn it. Being the idiot I am, immediately called out to him about looking like a tomato. Dad was horrified, but not surprised. But Eddie just stopped as he was about to pass me, looked me up and down and said, in the squeakiest voice ever,  _ you look like a beanstalk and a muppet had a baby, and your outfit sucks,  _ and then just kept walking. So obviously I was immediately obsessed with him.”

Eddie can’t help the blush that warms up his cheeks. 

“So that’s how it started. Eddie snapped at me once and I followed him around like a lost puppy for the next decade.” Richie says, voice doing something funny, like he’s nervous. Eddie can’t imagine why he would be. He must have started talking about this because he knows the baby monitor is on. “God, I was so- I liked him so much. He was my best friend, besides your dad. Stan always made me laugh the hardest, because his deadpanned deliveries and unexpected timing was brilliant. Comedic gold. He should have gone into comedy instead of me. His potential is wasted on those damned birds.” 

Eddie snorts. There’s really no doubt that Stan’s the funniest of all the Losers. When he first makes a joke, it’s an absolute killer. Once, when they were fifteen, right after Bill and Ben moved out of Derry and never called or wrote to them, Stan made a joke that had Eddie’s laughing so hard he slipped on a rock and fell into the Quarry, still fully clothed and in the middle of March. When he came home shivering and wet, his mom had grounded him for two weeks. It was worth every single day locked inside the house to have witnessed Stan’s pleased little grin as Eddie emerged from the water, spluttering and cursing loudly.

“But Eddie. Eddie made me laugh all the time. At everything he said and did.” Richie laughs softly, “He still does. And he might have thought, back then, that I was making fun of him, or just laughing to piss him off. But I genuinely think Eddie’s the greatest dude on the planet. I love everything that comes out of his mouth. I love making him laugh right back. I love making him snap and yell at me about how much of an a-hole I am. It’s my greatest pleasure in life.”

Leaning on his side, elbow propped up on the cushion next to him to keep his weight on, Eddie reaches for the volume button and twists it too max, so he won’t have to strain to hear Richie’s low voice. 

“I… Bad things happened to us when we were thirteen, and I was so scared. Addy, I can’t even describe to you how scared I was that summer. When Bill asked us to join him down into the sewers, or into the house on Neibolt street - not one part of me wanted to. I would do anything for Bill, or at least I thought so, before that summer. But what he was asking of us was  _ unreasonable _ . Because he wasn’t driven on by a selfless need to save Derry, like Ben and Mike, or hero-worship like Ben, Bev and Eddie. He was so grief stricken and overwhelmed with wanting to avenge Georgie, it gave him tunnel vision; he didn’t even realize what he was asking of us. I don’t know if the other’s had the same level of fear as me, the moments of hesitation, the impulse to just go home and let the clown rage in peace, or if I was just a coward. A big chicken.” He laughs, but it doesn’t have a hint of humour in it, making Eddie frown.

“Eddie however. That little man is the bravest mothe- person I have ever met. He volunteered to go into Neibolt with Bill, and he led the way down in the sewers. And sometimes I think, if Eddie hadn’t been willing to go down fighting the clown, both when we were thirteen and again when we were forty, I wouldn’t have. Simple as that. And then down in the sewers, two years ago, Eddie had a moment where he almost backed down, and I told him. I told him how brave I think he is. And I thought,  _ if Eddie turns around now, I’ll go with him. I won’t be able to do this without him _ . But Eddie didn’t turn around. He squared his shoulders and he walked into the lair of the clown, he held my hand as we ran through the tunnels and he threw that fencepost like a javelin, to save my life.”

Eddie feels on fire. His heart is beating so hard in his chest it feels like his entire body is vibrating with it, and his eyes are stinging. He can feel his feet again, the pain faded away, as if his body is suddenly awake and aware of every sensation. 

He doesn’t think what Richie’s saying is true for one second. That Richie’s a coward. He can’t even wrap his mind around the fact that Richie thinks so. When they were in Neibolt the first time, Richie had gone off looking for Eddie on his own when he got separated from him and Bill, and then when they finally found their way downstairs to find Eddie broken and screaming, the clown looming over him with It’s jaw unhinged, baring rows and rows of sharp teeth - Richie had been by his side in seconds, putting himself in harm's way. And in the cistern, Richie had given Eddie a warm smile before stepping out from their hiding spot behind the rocks, exposed and brave, and called the clown  _ a sloppy bitch,  _ to save Mike’s life. Richie is brave and strong and so full of love. 

Eddie remembers Richie, standing between the clown and the other Losers, as angry as Eddie had ever seen him, It’s grip tight around Bill’s neck. Eddie hadn’t seen Richie angry before that day down in the sewers. Mildly annoyed, yes. Frustrated and upset. Exasperated. Never angry. But there he was, blazing with it, standing at his full height, eyes furious and body tight with emotion. And while the other Loser’s had been appalled at Richie for even insinuating that he would leave Bill behind, Eddie had recognized his body language. Recognized it as the buildup to a joke. Deceit. Feigning right and going left. The way his body would be suspended in the air, just for a moment, before plunging down into the Quarry waters below. And as Richie grabbed for the baseball bat, which he had been inching towards the entire time he was talking, the punchline hit, and he was bright and brave and heroic. Comedic timing.  _ Welcome to the Losers Club asshole.  _

Eddie has no idea how Richie could ever view himself as a coward.

“And… This is where things get a bit fuzzy, because I got caught in the deadlights, and then Eddie got skewered like a shishkebab, and I sort of lost it a bit. I remember the other’s fighting the clown, remember Eddie’s blood on my hands, remember carrying him out of the sewer with the help of Ben and Mike, his body slack in my arms, thinking he was already dead.” Richie’s voice is shaking, and Eddie suddenly feels very cold. They never really talk about it. About Richie carrying him out of the sewers, performing CPR as they waited for the ambulance, about Eddie crashing in on the way to the hospital. They don’t talk about Richie refusing to leave his side as the other’s went to defeat It. The only time they had really talked about what happened after Eddie was stabbed was when he woke up in the hospital demanding to know how he was alive. 

Richie had sat pale and uncomfortable in a chair in the corner of Eddie’s hospital room as Mike and Bill talked Eddie through the events had gone down with the clown after Eddie got impaled, and how they managed to drag him out of the cistern alive, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor, or escape through a window. And Eddie hadn’t been able to look away from him, thinking,  _ alright, of course Richie was the one to save my life, of course _ . And then,  _ oh I am in love with him and he can’t even meet my eye and I am married _ , and then, _ I’m gay and I’ve always been in love with him, even when I lost my memory and married a woman _ .

“I was in shock, I didn’t have time to even think about it. And then Eddie was in surgery for almost forty hours, and I was out of my mind, horrified of losing him all over again. I barely remember anything between him getting stabbed and the doctors coming out into the waiting room to tell us he was alive and going to be alright. So it wasn’t until I was sitting next to his hospital bed, watching him sleep with such a peaceful look on his face - like how he used to looks back when we were teenagers having sleepovers in Stan’s living room or up at the Hanlons’ farmhouse, finally safe and comfortable, out of his mother’s claws for even a few hours - that I finally thought about it.” He sounds exhausted, voice very low and hoarse, “I don’t want to presume anything, obviously. But I think Eddie might have kissed me out of the deadlights.”

Eddie can’t breathe. His lungs contract painfully in his chest, heart beating frantically against his ribs, his whole chest hurting with the force of it. His mind goes blank with fear. He didn’t think Richie remembered that. The only other Loser that had seen Eddie doing that was Mike, and he had ever mentioned it again. In the moment, frozen with fear and overwhelmed with the clown's screams in his ears, it had been the only thing he could think of doing to snap Richie out of it. It had worked when they were thirteen, when Ben kissed Bev, so he figured,  _ hey, true love’s kiss _ and all that. It wouldn’t be the most insane thing they had ever gone through; if alien clown gods are real,  _ true love’s kiss _ can’t be such a far reach. He holds his breath, looking at Richie’s slumped body language over the baby monitor, feeling frozen in place. 

“I don’t know if that’s actually what happened. I’ve never dared ask. Part of me doesn’t want to know, because then we’ll have to talk about why he did it, and why he never brought it up again. I don’t think I’m ready for the truth. I’m fine living in my own little bubble of my imagination, you know? Like if we talk about it, it’ll all burst and come down around me, and I don’t know how I’ll handle that.” Richie laughs drily, and Eddie feels like he’s about to throw up, “But to some extent, despite the fact that I think about it all the time, it doesn’t really matter. Because Eddie’s alive. You know, I wasn’t sure he would survive. I could  _ see  _ the light leave his eyes, could feel his heart slow down and stop beating in his chest, and I thought, if Eddie dies- If… Sorry.” He sniffles. 

Eddie grabs for the monitor on the table, propping himself up against the sofa cushions and pulling his legs under his body, staring at the black and white screen, where Richie has leaned back in the armchair, looking defeated. 

“If Eddie had died down there, I would have stayed. Nothing in the world could have gotten me to leave him behind.”

The gasp that leaves Eddie’s mouth is involuntary. 

“In that moment nothing else mattered to me but Eddie. It was like our first time in Neibolt all over again. If Eddie was going to die I was going down with him. Simple as that. I lived without him for twenty-seven years. I couldn’t lose him again, I wouldn’t. He almost died, capital D, and I don’t think there would have been a way I would bounce back from that. I cannot imagine living in a world where he isn’t alive.”

It’s upsetting to hear the way Richie speaks about this. And part of Eddie is glad he’s never told him this before, because Eddie would have rained hellfire upon him for even saying it, for even  _ thinking  _ it. It’s infuriating, to think that Richie would have thrown away his life, hurt all the other Losers, for  _ Eddie _ . Eddie, who was dying anyways. Did it really matter? Richie had gotten all the other’s back in his life, after two decades apart from them, the clown was dead, most of them were alive. Why  _ wouldn’t  _ that be enough?

Richie sinks lower into the chair and sighs, almost inaudibly, looking scared, “The thing about love, Ads, is that it defies all reason. God, I sound like a character from one of Bill’s books. I hated that… Pretend I never said that, Jesus Christ.” He groans, “Addy, I know you’re growing up surrounded by so much love. You have the best parents in the world, who love each other in the most beautiful and pure way. You have five uncles and one aunt that adore you to an insane amount, and want to spoil you rotten and make sure you never get hurt. And it’s not like familial love isn’t enough, but I want you to find the sort of love I have for Eddie. I want you to one day find someone who loves you the way I love him; unconditionally and all-consuming. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

And that’s the moment Eddie realizes Richie doesn’t know the baby monitor is on. In an overwhelming fit of desperation, Eddie tries to push himself off the couch to run up the stairs, needing. Wanting. He knocks his knee against the side of the coffee table and sits down heavy, panting. He groans loudly, banging both fists against the cushions, like some angry cartoon character. And then stares daggers at his wheelchair, then at the stairs, feeling like the entire universe is against him. God fucking damn his useless legs and aching spine. Fuck the fucking steep stairs. Especially fuck Richie for saying all this when Eddie can’t reach him.

“A few years ago I- I was so lonely.” Richie laughs, self-deprecatingly and dryly, “I was so lonely, and I felt like maybe I wasn’t meant to ever find someone, to ever experience deep human connection. And then I took one look at Eddie at the Jade and realised he’s the piece I was missing all those years, and I’m just happy to have found him again, because he’s the part of my life.”

Eddie wants to rip his hair out in frustration, and there are hot tears rapidly building up in his eyes, making his sight blurry and wobbly. If it wasn’t for the way Addy looks like she has already fallen asleep, Eddie would have called out for Richie - demanded he come downstairs at fucking once. 

“I finally remembered him again, the pieces slotting back together - I was so obsessed with him as a child, and I think part of me always knew I was in love with him, and I was so disgustingly embarrassed about it. You know, Derry was a shithole, a ghost town made up of racism and homophobia, and I don’t know how much of that was clown magic, and how much of that was just the very fabric of Derry, but I was young and  _ so afraid _ of my feelings. So I shoved it down, so deep it would only come out when Eddie looked at me with genuine happiness on his face, or laughed loudly, happy and unashamed. And then the clown happened, and the whole thing with the werewolf - I mean it was pretty obvious, and I cannot believe none of the Losers figured that symbolism out. I was so horrified of the reality of what my feelings for Eddie truly meant, so I never said anything, never dared to even dream that he would love me back.”

Of course, Eddie thinks, feeling insane and hysterical, of course the werewolf thing was a metaphor for Richie’s internalised homophobia in the same way the leper was a metaphor for Eddie’s. The AIDS epidemic was raging, and Eddie didn’t exactly help by constantly bringing up all the bullshit his mom was feeding him. Sometimes Eddie wonders if his mother knew. If she took one look at him and just knew who he was, and that’s why she was constantly trying to scare him away from even thinking homosexuality was a valid thing, and not something shameful and repulsive. In this moment, gripping the baby monitor like a lifeline, feeling like he’s floating away from his body, he hates her more than he’s ever done before. 

“So, I stepped into the Jade, already overwhelmed with remembering all the gory details of my shitty childhood, and seeing Bev and Ben again, and there he was. Angular and fit and so incredibly handsome, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, I’ll get the chance to find out if my feelings back then were totally unrequited.” Richie hums, propping his elbow up on the armrest to lean his cheek against his palm, “And then of course - because the universe hates me - Eddie was wearing a gold band around his ring finger, and he was married, to a  _ woman _ , and then Bev said,  _ no way Richie’s married _ , and everyone laughed, and for a moment I hated them all. And I thought, this is what you get, Trashmouth, for presenting yourself as something ugly and unlovable, for being self-deprecating and fake, and for making jokes to cover up all the love spilling out of you.”

Never in Eddie’s forty one years of life has he ever been this devastated and overwhelmed. To think that while Eddie was sitting there at the restaurant, having an internal fucking crisis, realising he was gay and in love with Richie, getting drunk enough to have the confidence to even touch him, Richie was sitting there feeling bad about himself. It truly is a testimony to how much those two decades apart wiped their memory, because Eddie always used to be good at that. Good at watching for any change to Richie’s body language, the pitch of his tone, the vibrato of his laugh - to note whenever Richie was faking it. Eddie would always be the first to notice when the heckling had gone too far, had hit a nerve, had made Richie retreat into himself. At the Jade, Eddie had looked over at him, and Richie’s eyes had been bright and his smile had been wide, and he hadn’t thought about all the other tell-tale signs of Richie’s genuine displeasure. Like the way he kept crossing his arms over his chest, or flexing his jaw, or the way his eyebrows would wobble slightly, when Bill made a joke about his comedy, or Bev commented on his love life. Eddie had been too blinded by his own excitement at being in that room with them, the people he loved most in the world, that he hadn’t taken the time to indulge the idea that Richie was still the same insecure boy he always was. Maybe part of him was hoping Richie had finally realised he was brilliant and loved, grown out of his childhood insecurities and self-deprecation. 

“I was so angry, and so lonely, and then I was suddenly sitting by his hospital bed, and this sense of calm washed over me. Because I almost lost him, and all that mattered to me was that he was alive. He’s still here. So he doesn’t have to love me. He’s alive, he’s still in my life, he’s whole and strong and just as feral as ever. So how could I ever ask for more?”

_ Ask for more _ , Eddie thinks.  _ Please ask me for more. Ask me for anything. I will give it to you. I want to give it to you. Everything. All of me. Please let me. _

“And while, yes, it might be sad to discover that after over twenty years of feeling unloved, I discovered that my  _ soulmate _ , the guy I loved before I even understood what the word even meant, was married… It was a lot less than sad than to walk around thinking I simply wasn’t meant for love.” Richie hums, “I forgot how good loving someone feels. I love loving him. It’s enough, in it’s own ways. There’s this poem I really like. I don’t remember the exact words, or who it’s by, but there’s a line that goes  _ who needs light when I have you _ . And. It really got a new meaning after I remembered Eddie again.”

If he doesn’t come downstairs soon, Eddie thinks, he’s going to go insane. He wants to scream with all the feelings bubbling up his throat, threatening to spill out of him like an overflowing cup. He hadn’t realised he’s crying until then, tears hot and wet on his face. His hands are shaking, his knuckles white from gripping the monitor like a lifeline, as if he’s going to shatter into a million pieces if he lets go of it.

Richie chuckles softly over the monitor, “Well, you clearly thought this was so boring you couldn’t wait to fall asleep, so I’m gonna leave you to it.” He stands up from the chair, leaning over the crib to give Addy one last pat on the head, before turning on his heel and exiting the room. 

Eddie registers Richie’s footsteps upstairs, hears him descend the stairs, sees him appear in his peripheral vision, but all he can do is sit and stare at the monitor in his hands, frozen to the spot and tears streaming down his face. 

“Sorry that took forever,” Richie says, voice back to it’s usual humorous tone, “She wouldn’t fall asleep. I read her like three books- Eddie?”

Eddie turns his head to look at him then, vision blurry with tears, “You have to put like at least 5 dollars in the curse jar, dickwad.” He says, his voice broken and raspy. 

“Jesus, are you alright? ” Richie asks, quickly coming around the couch, “Wha-” His eyes widen comically as he takes in Eddie’s state. Crying and clutching the monitor. “Oh.  _ Fuck _ .”

“Yeah.” Eddie agrees, still sounding humiliatingly choked up. 

“You. Oh my god.” Richie says, pale and shocked, “I- Fuck, Eddie. You weren’t supposed to hear that. I’m so sorry. How much did you hear?” He sits down heavy on the couch, as far away from Eddie as possible. It feels like a punch to the gut. Eddie hates how scared and humiliated Richie looks. Like he’s afraid Eddie’s going to yell at him. Like he thinks Eddie’s angry at him for being in love with him.

“All of it.” Eddie stutters, feeling too choked up to speak properly, “Start to finish.”

“Fuck.” Richie groans, “Fuck, Eddie… Can we just- Can we just pretend you never heard anything? I don’t want to. I would hate to ruin our friendship. Because. Uh. I’ve-”

“No.” Eddie says, finally putting the monitor down on the cushion besides him, “Me too.”

“What?” Richie asks, eyes large, “You too what?”

“I love you.” Eddie says. It’s easier to say than he thought it would be. It comes out naturally, like he’s said it a million times. Like they’ve been here before. Like in every lifetime, Eddie’s told Richie those exact words. They feel familiar in his mouth. They sound near and dear to his ears. “Come here.  _ Please _ .”

Richie, looking frozen in shock, red in the face and mouth open, stands up and rounds the table towards Eddie’s spot on the sectional, like he’s moving without thinking. “You… What?” He stops in front of Eddie, looking down at him with a look of such pure shock, Eddie almost laughs. 

“I love you, you fucking idiot.” Eddie says, smiling up at him. 

Eddie doesn’t miss the way Richie’s knees shake, as if they’re about to give in, “Since… Since when?”

“About twenty-nine years, give or take.”

“Oh.” Richie sighs, “Right. Uh, that’s…”

“Will you sit down?” Eddie huffs, patting the seat next to him, “I would very much like to kiss you but my legs and back hurt, so I can’t really move.”

Richie stumbles slightly as he sits down next to him, knees tucked into the side of Eddie’s leg, facing him. “Do you want me to. Uh, do you want your painkillers?”

“Fucking hell, Richie. No. I want you to kiss me.”

Richie grins, looking like he can’t help it, “I can do that. Whatever you want, Eds.”

“Not my name.” Eddie smiles, feeling giddy. 

“Close enough.” Richie says reflexively. 

“Fuck you.”

“I love you.” Richie sighs, and then surges forward, hands reaching for Eddie’s jaw, cradling his face softly in his hands. 

His hands are so fucking large they span from the soft flesh under Eddie’s jaw, to the top of his head, and Eddie’s head spins with the sensation. When Richie finally leans in, Eddie’s heart does a silly little flip in his chest, and then Richie’s lips are sliding against his tenderly, and his brain blacks out. The only thing that matters in this world is Richie’s breath against his cheek, his lips soft and warm against Eddie’s. Richie lets out a relieved sounding sigh, as if he’s been waiting a long time for this. They have, Eddie supposes. Almost thirty years of waiting. 

When Eddie was younger he used to walk around hungry. Not for a lack of actual food and nutrition; with his mother's rigid meal plans and scheduled pills. More hungry with  _ wanting _ , a hunger he never could satiate with food or vitamins. Eddie remembers being hungry his entire childhood, locked in a home that scared him, watching an outside that also scared him pass him by. Then, when Eddie was six, he met Richie and Bill on their first day of grade school, and some of that starvation was filled, little by little - with friendly touches, jokes, Richie's loud laughs and Bill's fond grins, and the way Stan would always save him a carton of milk during lunch. Eddie hadn't even realised that what he might have been missing was friendship. His mother had always made it seem like the only person he would ever need, or should ever want around, was her, and Eddie, being young and naive, had trusted her. Of course he had trusted her, she was his mother, after all. And for a while, the hunger inside of him grew smaller and smaller, with each passing month of being a Loser, and he was fine. He was content with what he was given, because he never had expected anything in the first place.

Then, summer of '89, Ben had just moved into town, Bev had  _ chosen  _ to become a Loser, and Mike had shown up seemingly out of nowhere, and the hunger in Eddie had shrunk to almost non-existent. He filled it up with long summer days, basking in the sun by the Quarry, or brisk autumn evenings down in the clubhouse, or cosy winter nights coped up in the Hanlon's farmhouse attic. How could he be hungry, when he had seven friends by his side who gave him his share of love, and more?

When Eddie was eighteen, his mother packed him in the car and drove over the city limits, intent on taking him to where his aunts lived in Haven. Eddie remembers glancing out the back window of his mothers station wagon, watching Mike, Richie and Stan grow smaller and smaller in the distance, until they were mere dots in the horizon. The car crossed the city line, and Eddie's mind went blank, the clown magic wiping all his memories away, and his entire soul went ravenous again, as if all the love and friendship filling his heart had become a black hole, sucking at his soul until there was nothing but emptiness left in him.

Eddie had spent over twenty years wondering what was wrong with him. Wondering why no one else seemed as  _ lacking  _ as him. Lacking love, or happiness, or satisfaction. Eddie worked hard, he followed the right path, he got himself a wife and a house and a 401k job, and still he was empty and hungry for  _ something more _ . It wasn't until he walked into the Jade of the Orient, took one look at Richie's wide shoulder and stupid grin, at Mike and Bill's fond eyes, at Bev's minx grin, Ben's genuine expressions, and Stan's reserved smiles, that Eddie realised that it didn't matter what he had done with his life. His soul had once known the feeling of the Loser's love, of loving them, and it would never function without it again.

Richie makes a hungry sort of noise against Eddie's mouth, and Eddie wants to pull him into his body and devour him whole. Eddie isn't embarrassed about being hungry any more. Eddie isn't afraid to ask for what he wants. He bites down at Richie's lower lip, hard, relishing in the broken moan Richie lets out, then pulls away, "I simply cannot move right now, so you need to get on top of me."

Richie opens his eyes, looking half dazed, half amused, "Alright, boss." He laughs, "Where do you want me?"

Everywhere, Eddie thinks. Anywhere. Wherever I am. Wherever you want to go.

"Between my legs," He says, "You have to carry your own weight though."

Richie snorts, but moves as told, straddling Eddie momentarily until he gets both knees between Eddie's legs, and holding himself up with his hands placed on both sides of Eddie's waist. "Been doing that all my life, baby, don't mind doing it some more."

Eddie growls at the pet name, reaching up to get his fingers in Richie's ridiculous curls, "Come here."

Richie leans down, pliant and willing under Eddie's hands, and Eddie thinks that this is all he's ever wanted. That first day he met Richie on the steps outside school, with his messy curls and toothy grin; when they were ten and Richie sprung him from his mother's claws to go see a movie at the Aladdin and Eddie would let his hand brush against Richie's on the armrest; when they were thirteen and the clown was terrorizing them, and every time things got scary, Richie would grab for Eddie, like Eddie's safety was the only thing that mattered to him; when they were fifteen and Bev moved away, and Richie was sad and angry, but would still go soft under Eddie's touch; when they were eighteen and Eddie said goodbye to Richie for the last time in twenty-one years. Eddie's always wanted this. Richie in his arms - Richie willing to give and wanting to take right back.

Richie slots his lips back against Eddie's, and Eddie feels electricity shoot through his entire body, from where his lips meet Richie's, down to his toes. Warm and buzzing.

Richie huffs a laugh, pulling away slightly so he can ask, "Hey, remember when you were almost eaten by a clown after breaking your arm and you told me to not fucking touch you?"

Eddie frowns at him, "Yes, because I was in pain and you were all. Elbows and rowdiness and... I was in pain!"

Richie grins, "Well, yes. I do know that. But Eds. I wanted to help you, because I was so head over heels with you I couldn't stand to see you in pain."

Eddie furrows his brows, biting at his lower lip. Richie's eyes follow the movement. "Of course I was in pain, Richie. My bone was sticking out under my skin."

"You snappy bitch, let me talk."

"You have literally talked for almost two hours." Eddie huffs, "It should be my turn to talk."

"Shut up," Richie laughs, "Just let me."

Eddie shuts his mouth, and glowers at him, but he suspects the way his lips are pulling upwards at the corners is giving him away.

"So you were hurt. And I was in love with you. I was so, so in love with you, Eddie. I couldn't stand it. I walked around all the time not fathoming how people just walked around being in love, every single day. Why didn't people just tip over with it? Pass out? And then you got hurt, and- Well you know I never gave a shit about what your mom told you or what you believed about yourself."

Eddie nods.

"I took one look at you in first grade and I just knew, with my entire being, that you were one strong, brave motherfucker." Richie hums, raising one hand to brush over Eddie's forehead. His fingers are slightly calloused, and warm, and Eddie leans into the touch like a cat. "You know I never treated you any different than any of the other Losers. Well, I didn't yearn after them like a lovesick 1800s poet, but I did give you as much shit as I did them. And then you were hurt, actually hurt, for the first time since I had known you. Not just a scape or a twisted ankle, but you were in excruciating pain, and I was losing my mind. And you told me to not fucking touch you."

Huffing, Eddie rolls his eyes and says, "Well, to be fair, I was in excruciating pain."

"I know, you little twerp." Richie laughs, "But. It was sort of a reality check for me. That I could have lost you that summer. You know? If Bill and I came downstairs even a minute later, you might have been dead."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, "Yes, well. I didn't die. Not then and not two years ago."

"No, you didn't." Richie agrees, "You're one strong little badger."

Eddie hums, "What if I told you," He says, his voice going very low against his own will, "That now, twenty-nine years later, I want you to touch me."

Richie's face splits into a heartwarming grin, his eyes soft and tender, "We both know I usually just listen to you when you're saying what I want to hear."

Eddie laughs, "Oh shut the fuck up." And then they're clashing against each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read the tags and are wondering, hey Vilde, where is the promised hand and blow jobs? Well! I added a third chapter, which will be just the horny stuff, so keep an eye up for that ;)  
> come hang out with me on twt, @richietozieer

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me @richietozieer and atomic @atomicteaparty on twt!


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